


We Are The World

by santana-lopez (nightshifted)



Category: Glee
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-21
Updated: 2011-10-21
Packaged: 2017-10-24 20:10:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/267388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightshifted/pseuds/santana-lopez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quinn's NYC haircut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Are The World

Quinn Fabray has officially lost it.

If her breakdown in the middle of a New York City hotel room isn't any indication, then letting Brittany near her head with a pair of scissors sure is. She winces as Brittany enters the bathroom, carelessly holding a pair of scissors that suddenly looks like a chainsaw.

Quinn fidgets in her seat. "Are you sure you know how to use those?"

Brittany's face falls, like she's just been told that someone's been stomping on her cat for the better part of an hour. "I'm not stupid, Quinn."

Seated atop the bathroom counter, Santana turns and glares threateningly at her. "You done, Q?" She twirls her own scissors around her thumb; the instrument snaps open and shut as it spins. "Trust me, I can do a lot worse with these things than Brittany can."

Quinn reaches for Brittany's hand, genuinely apologetic. "Sorry, Britt, I didn't mean it like that. I'm just a little nervous about losing all this hair."

Brittany smiles. "Don't worry. We're going to make you look like a lion. A boy lion. But without the little boy lion p—"

" _Okay_ ," Santana interrupts. "Let's get this over with. Take off your shirt."

Quinn startles, instinctively crossing her arms over her chest. "What? No. Why?"

"So Britts and I can jiggle your boobs," Santana deadpans, holding her hands up in front of her and mimicking the motion. At Quinn's look of mortification, Santana laughs. "I'm kidding. You want little pieces of hair stuck in your shirt?"

Quinn shakes her head. "I don't care. I'm not undressing in front of you."

Santana rolls her eyes. "It's nothing we haven't seen, and honestly, your boobs aren't even that great."

"I like them," Brittany chimes in. "They'd fit nicely in my—"

Quinn rockets out of her seat. " _Stop_. Stop talking about my boobs."

"Sit _down_. Let Brittany cut your hair, make you look like a cheetah or whatever."

"A _lion_ ," Brittany corrects, waving her hands around her own head, indicating a mane. "You know, Simba? After he ate all those bugs and sang about Hakuna Mufasa."

Quinn frowns. "I don't think that's exactly how it—never mind." She sits back down and grips the seat of her chair. "I'm ready. I'm not taking off my shirt."

Santana shrugs. "Suit yourself."

Brittany approaches with her scissors, a semi-predatory look in her eyes, and Quinn swallows hard, trying to mentally prepare herself for decapitation. Gently, Brittany picks up a lock of her hair, and Quinn squeezes her eyes shut as she listens for the snip. Panic swells in Quinn's chest as she feels strands of her own hair brush her neck and roll down her shoulders.

"Should I stop?" she hears Brittany whisper, but the question isn't directed toward her.

"No, keep going," Santana replies quietly, almost as though she doesn't want Quinn to hear her. "She's fine. You're doing great, Britt."

"Santana, she's like, blue in the face."

Quinn hears Santana hop off the counter and land on the ground with a light thud. A moment later, someone kneels down in front of her, hands sliding to her thighs, and Quinn's eyes snap open.

"Hey, relax, okay?" Santana tells her, looking less like the agitated bitch and more like the girl who'd leaned her head comfortingly against Quinn's shoulder earlier. "It's just a haircut. Brittany actually does know what she's doing. She's cut my hair before in a pinch. Her mom's a hairdresser."

Quinn nods silently, and Santana looks up at Brittany to signal the go-ahead. When Brittany starts snipping away again, Santana makes a move to rise to her feet, but Quinn's hands slide over Santana's, holding her there. Santana's eyes flash, but she says nothing and settles back down. Quinn catches her exchanging another look with Brittany.

The room is quiet except for the occasional sound of scissors cutting down on hair. Brittany circles Quinn, carefully trimming away. Quinn shouldn't have been surprised, she realizes, because despite Brittany's constant state of confusion, the girl's always had superior coordination.

"Done," Brittany announces fifteen minutes later. Santana still hasn't moved from her spot on the floor in front of Quinn.

A gentle hand brushes against Quinn's neck and shoulders as more pieces of her hair tumble to the ceramic tiles. Santana stands and pulls Quinn up with her, spinning her to face the mirror.

Quinn smiles faintly at her reflection. She looks _good_ , and already, she can feel some of the negativity that'd been bogging her down leave her.

She pulls Brittany into a hug. "Thank you," she murmurs against Brittany's hair. She's not talking about the haircut, and from the way Brittany beams at her when she pulls away, she's pretty sure Brittany knows it, too.

Santana smoothes her hand over Quinn's short hair, a gesture that feels more intimate than it should. "A haircut is nice and everything," she says, staring at Quinn's reflection in the mirror, "but when we get home, I think you should talk to your mom about seeing a therapist." Her eyes lower, and she takes a deep breath. "And I know coming from me, you're gonna think I'm taking another jab at you or and all that other crap we put each other through, but I'm actually not trying to be a bitch for once. You need help, Q, and we can joke about lesbian threesomes or whatever, but you need to talk to a professional. My dad can refer you to someone if you want."

Quinn leans her head against Santana's shoulder and pulls Brittany closer until the three of them are cuddled together.

"I know," Quinn says, her voice cracking.

In the tiny hotel bathroom in the middle of New York City, Quinn holds on to her two oldest friends, and when the first tear slides down her cheek, a soft hand reaches up to brush it away.

_fin_


End file.
